Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,44
a loud clatter. Black chunks tumbled over the hearth rug, rolling onto the fine carpet and disappearing under chairs and footstools. She cringed, wide-eyed, her grimy hands pressed to her apple cheeks.
To her chagrin, Alicia realized the servant had heard neither her approach nor her words. Had she been deep in thought? Or was she stone deaf?
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Alicia said, sinking to her knees. “Truly, I didn’t.”
As she spoke, the girl watched her lips. Deaf, then. The knot of anger inside Alicia unraveled into amazement. A rich household like this one could afford to hire the most able-bodied servants. Yet Drake employed a deaf housemaid, a misfit who would be denied a post by the nobility.
It couldn’t be out of kindness. He was a ruthless, selfish man. So that left only one explanation. He must not be aware of her impairment.
The girl’s brown eyes brimmed with tears. Remorsefully, Alicia patted that soot-smudged hand. “Don’t weep,” she said, taking care to form her words slowly. “It was an accident. My fault.”
The maid scrambled to right the bucket. “Nay, m’lady. ’Twas my clumsiness.”
Her voice had a nasal flatness, but by a miracle, she wasn’t mute. Touching the girl’s shoulder to get her attention, Alicia said, “What is your name?”
“Kitty.” Her lower lip trembled. “Don’t put me out on the street, mum, please. I’ll clean up in a jeffy.”
“You won’t lose your post. I promise you that.”
On hands and knees, Alicia gathered the black lumps, dropping them with a tinny bang into the bucket. Kitty scrambled to work faster, glancing cautiously at her mistress, as if unable to believe her reprieve. Alicia vowed to make her believe. In time, Kitty—and the other servants—would realize the lady of the house was no ogress to be feared.
Spying one last piece beneath a gilt chair, she crouched low and stretched out her hand to retrieve it. Her fingers closed around the hard chunk just as a soft rap sounded on the door.
The door connecting her chamber to Drake’s.
Alicia’s heart skittered over a beat. He couldn’t walk in, she reminded herself. The door was locked. Her first night here, she had hidden the key in one of her gloves and tucked it away in the farthest corner of her wardrobe. Every night since, she had tested the bolt before going to bed.
What could Drake Wilder want with her at this hour?
She had a few words to say to him, too. But not until she was fully clothed. If she pretended to be asleep, he would go away in a moment.
The lock rattled. The door swung open. Her husband appeared.
She froze. Like a sultan surveying his harem, he lounged against the gilded frame, his hair mussed and his tall form in an alarming state of undress. He wore no cravat or coat, only dark breeches and a plain white shirt, the tails hanging loose. The unbuttoned front showed a wedge of naked chest. Even his feet were bare.
In his hand he held a ring of keys. She should have guessed he had a spare.
He frowned at the maid, then at Alicia. “Someone cried out,” he said. “What happened here?”
Kitty cowered by the fireplace. Alicia scrambled to her feet, tossed the lump of coal into the bucket, and stepped forward to block his view of the hearth. “Nothing happened,” she said coldly. “And I did not give you permission to unlock that door.”
“I heard sharp words spoken. I won’t have you berating my servants.”
“You misunderstood,” she said quickly, before he could address a question to the maid. “Now give me that key.” She held out her hand.
He twirled the iron ring on his forefinger and caught the keys in his palm with a metallic chink. “I keep the master set.”
“I don’t want the whole ring. Just the key to my door.”
“No,” he said flatly. “Now, I saw Yates this morning. She said you were looking for me.”
Her suspicions about the housekeeper added to her furious tension. Alicia had lain awake half the night, listening for his return, rehearsing the recriminations she would hurl at him. Yet she couldn’t challenge him here, for fear he might perceive Kitty’s affliction. Heaven help her, he’d send the poor girl packing.
Alicia hastened forward and drew him into his chambers. “We’ll talk where there’s more privacy.”
He went quite willingly, closing the door behind them. It was a mistake to touch him, to feel the heat of his flesh through the linen shirt. Stopping a few steps into the room, she